e hall. He had not a single phrase ready if he
should meet his own party; and he felt sure beforehand that if he
met his wife, he would only smile pitifully and not cleverly, and
that every one would understand what feeling had induced him to
come here. He was bewildered by the electric light, the loud music,
the smell of powder, and the fact that the ladies he met looked at
him. He stood at the doors trying to see and to hear what was going
on in the private rooms, and it seemed to him that he was somehow
playing a mean, contemptible part on a level with the comic singers
and those ladies. Then he went to Strelna, but he found none of his
circle there, either; and only when on the way home he was again
driving up to Yar's, a three-horse sledge noisily overtook him. The
driver was drunk and shouting, and he could hear Yartsev laughing:
"Ha, ha, ha!"

Laptev returned home between three and four. Yulia Sergeyevna was
in bed. Noticing that she was not asleep, he went up to her and
said sharply:

"I understand your repulsion, your hatred, but you might spare me
before other people; you might conceal your feelings."

She got up and sat on the bed with her legs dangling. Her eyes
looked big and black in the lamplight.

"I beg your pardon," she said.

He could not utter a single word from excitement and the trembling
of his whole body; he stood facing her and was dumb. She trembled,
too, and sat with the air of a criminal waiting for explanations.

"How I suffer!" he said at last, and he clutched his head. "I'm in
hell, and I'm out of my mind."

"And do you suppose it's easy for me?" she asked, with a quiver in
her voice. "God alone knows what I go through."

"You've been my wife for six months, but you haven't a spark of
love for me in your heart. There's no hope, not one ray of light!
Why did you marry me?" Laptev went on with despair. "Why? What demon
thrust you into my arms? What did you hope for? What did you want?"

She looked at him with terror, as though she were afraid he would
kill her.

"Did I attract you? Did you like me?" he went on, gasping for breath.
"No. Then what? What? Tell me what?" he cried. "Oh, the cursed
money! The cursed money!"

"I swear to God, no!" she cried, and she crossed herself. She seemed
to shrink under the insult, and for the first time he heard her
crying. "I swear to God, no!" she repeated. "I didn't think about
your money; I didn't want it. I simply thought I should do wron